


last night

by indicognito



Category: Trigun
Genre: Canon - Manga, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Manga Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 12:49:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4829729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indicognito/pseuds/indicognito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A glimpse into a scene of inevitable finality between two brothers. After so much time, there's really no chance at reconciliation; still, many unspoken thoughts weigh heavy on the minds of those about to go their separate ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	last night

**Author's Note:**

> I probably owe a lot of this to [Vash](http://vasheren.tumblr.com), since these boys are her babies. I loved the ending to the manga, but there was something I felt it missed, so I tried to make up the difference. It should go without saying that this contains major endgame spoilers for the series.

The connection no longer felt as stable as it had in previous years. Knives couldn't say for sure whether it owed to their injuries or the aftermath of the large-scale fusion. All he knew was that proximity usually meant that he could pick up on Vash's emotions and proffered thoughts in finely tuned detail. Now, there was little more than murmurs through radio static. It was uncanny to be so near Vash and yet unable to read him; Knives very nearly felt at a loss.

Without the ability to probe for Vash's thoughts, it was sometimes necessary for Knives to check on his recovery in person, difficult as it was. For the most part he chose to let their hosts mediate the recuperation. Much as he wanted to limit any interaction with the humans, using them for information was sometimes preferable to facing his brother directly. That much, he could only manage when the other was asleep. The two hadn't shared more than a few sentences since arriving at the small farmhouse.

A month had passed. Knives was seated by Vash's bedside during one of his silent vigils, half wanting to inspect the other's body for evidence of remaining injuries. There was nothing through the static in Vash's unconscious state, which was an improvement; for the first couple of weeks, the aura of pain had emanated even while he was asleep. According to the old man, the wounds were nearly healed. Vash only needed lots of rest.

Tentatively, Knives reached out and touched his brother's forehead. Even with their fettered connection, physical contact sometimes cleared the channel. There was the usual sense of calm, no dreams tonight, and something warm that seemed to flow from his fingertips up along his arm.

And what was that feeling?

_Ah yes..._ Knives closed his eyes. Compassion. But if he could detect that--

His eyes flew open.

_You're awake._

There was a faint hint of a smile on Vash's lips in response.

Knives recoiled, drawing his hand away. He felt his cheeks burn, ashamed that he had been caught in a vulnerable moment. The lingering sense of compassion haunted him, unsurprising as it was. On what could have been his last breath, Vash had saved him despite everything leading up to the fatal moment. Of course he would still be so foolish as to be concerned, even now...

_You don't always have to be so defensive._

Knives huffed. _Easy for you to say._

Vash peered at him through sleepy eyelids. _It's over. You know that, right?_

_I know._

Much as Knives hadn't wanted to admit it, he knew it was over weeks ago. And it was only a matter of time before it all ended for good. Still, something had compelled him to remain this long. Obligation, perhaps, to ensure the life of that which had saved his. But even that felt too sentimental. It had been decades since there had been enough empathy between them to do much right by the other, and yet here they were - fallen so far, by Knives' standard. His brother's behaviour was almost embarrassing.

Far more shameful was the fact that he had fallen prey to those ideals as well.

_Knives._

Vash was still staring at him, expression nowhere near as bitter as he had the right to be. Knives could barely meet his gaze.

He wondered if Vash knew of his intentions. He had expended much mental effort to prevent his brother from delving into that part of his mind. In a way, he was fortunate that their connection had weakened. There was no need for more sentiment now. Vash might even try to stop him if he knew. That was the last thing Knives needed.

He made to stand, but Vash grabbed his wrist with surprising dexterity given his bedridden state. Settling back down, posture stiffer than before, he mustered his most blank expression in meeting his brother's eye. _Do you need something?_

_Knives._

Even if the word wasn't spoken, the repetition came across softer than before. Imploring. Knives couldn't be certain what Vash wanted - to let his guard down? Shed his carefully wrought defenses just because Vash thought it was high time for an emotional tête-à-tête? Knives had no interest in some wearisome, sorrowful exchange. It was much too late to undo the bitterness of decades of physical separation and contrasting ideals. If Vash sought redemption, he had come to the wrong person. The weight of Knives' sins, of his life's commitments, were both untouchable and irredeemable.

But he was tired. At the end of it all, he was so very tired.

He was no longer in the chair beside the bed, but on his knees, wrist still in Vash's hand and forehead pressed to the other's. His eyes had fallen closed again, both from the lifelong exhaustion which had only seemed to settle in over the past few weeks and in an attempt to clear his own mind in order to reach that of his brother. The touch brought forth a thrum of sensation, the connection bridged more strongly than it had been in ages.

And there was so much there: the same compassion that had made Knives balk; the bottomless mourning Vash felt for both the human race and their fellow plants; the glowing warmth of optimism; a cold void of sadness that had haunted Vash for as long as Knives had known. A part of Knives wanted to yield to guilt, but he allowed himself to be consumed by what Vash felt in that moment. He was exhausted. He did not want support, only rest for the endless stirring in his own mind. Using his brother as a crutch for now was as good a respite as any.

Even if it was all too much.

_It's okay._

_It's really not._ Knives smiled despite himself, humourless as it was. _It's all over._

The name again, even gentler than before. _Knives._

Despite their enmity, Vash had always been a constant force in his life, his foil, the antithesis to his entire existence. But they weren't really so different; at their core, they were brethren, effectively one and the same. And Knives had not yet considered the enormity of both losing that relationship and depriving his brother of the same, but he now found himself clutched by something unfamiliar: despair.

He was drowning in the tide of Vash's entire being and realising that he stood to lose it all very shortly.

And he was laughing.

Tears, actual tears - when was the last time he cried? was he not a child then? - beaded in his eyes as he laughed madly, caught between horror and the absurdity of the fact that he even cared. He didn't want to care, not now, not when he was certain that his life was about to end. It was impossible to go back now, to take anything back - and he didn't want that either. Throughout his life, he had been committed to one purpose, one path, and that creed had not faded even when the fervour had. He regretted nothing.

Nothing, perhaps, except what he would now lose.

And oh, how relieving and terrible that felt. How wonderful to finally be free of that opposition, and how awful to think that he would never see Vash again.

He had lost to his brother. The only sensible conclusion was to leave in proper defeat. Dying was the only option now.

But for an instant, he didn't want to.

Vash silenced the laughter by pulling Knives into a hug, relinquishing the wrist to wrap both arms around him. Knives' name continued to echo on Vash's thoughts, over and over, and Knives would have grown sick of it had he not been distracted by the first embrace he had felt since he was a child. It occurred to him that the mantra was no longer just being thought; he could hear his name being spoken repeatedly, coaxing him out of the hysterics. Eventually, the laughs subsided and a semblance of calm returned, enough for Knives to catch his breath and pull away.

_It's a shame you have to see me this way._ He still wore the bittersweet smile, too distraught to properly regain his composure.

_I told you that you don't have to be so defensive. It isn't good for you to keep it all in._

Knives refrained from rolling his eyes, opting instead to merely lay his forehead back against his brother's. _It really doesn't matter anymore._

He felt Vash's heart skip a beat. But he knew what Knives meant. He had probably known all along.

Some other sentimental fool bearing the guilt of a life of misdeeds might have felt the moment appropriate for an apology, but Knives felt no need for one. He knew as well as Vash did that it wouldn't be sincere. Vash was his only regret. They were the only casualties worth grieving over in the wake of it all.

For the first time, Knives chose to stay rather than leave Vash while he was awake, crawling up off the floor to join the other. The bed was cramped, but their entangled limbs managed to settle comfortably, heads still together and fingers entwined as they rested, not unlike when they were children. This was it, Knives decided. There would be no apologies, no confessions, no reconciliation; this was as close as they would get. And that meant he had no more obligations in this world.

There could be no accord between them, even now. But the quiet hours leading up to dawn felt something like a ceasefire. It was the closest Knives had felt to being at ease in a very long while.

And finally, after many long years, true rest would come soon.

Though he dozed, Knives did not sleep. As soon the early morning light crept through the window, he disentangled himself from Vash's unconscious form. The air was brisk, almost chilly without the warmth of the other's body, and Knives found the cloak he had left on the chair last night and drew it around himself. He spent a long minute staring at Vash, taking him in, remarking how at peace he looked in his sleep.

There was another pang of regret, impossible to stifle.

_In another lifetime, Vash..._

But Vash was still fast asleep, too far gone to reply. Probably for the best.

Knives' lips curled into the ghost of a smile. _I'll see you then, brother._

He swept out the door without looking back.

* * *

 

When Vash awoke, his first thought was that it was an oddly muted morning. Maybe the old man had yet to wake up; usually he was rattling around cooking breakfast by this point. Even the son, who could usually be heard shouting at the cat as it yowled to be fed, was being uncharacteristically quiet.

He sat up, shrugging out of the thin coverlet. The air felt so still, it was almost as if--

\--everything had gone silent.

The static was gone.

He probed with his mind, but there was nothing there. The connection wasn't just weak - it had broken off entirely, with no second party to reach.

Vash had sensed it was coming, but no amount of foresight could have served as preparation.

He closed his eyes, slowly succumbing to a pain that was welling to an unbearable peak. In the last moments of clarity, he thought he could sense the phantom of a lingering thought, hovering somewhere in his subconscious. Shaking violently, overcome by the knowledge of an inevitable reality, he was unable to do anything but offer a reply that would never be heard.

_Yeah. Until then._

 


End file.
